


A Lily Among Roses

by warmommy



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12710034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warmommy/pseuds/warmommy
Summary: Eager to exact revenge upon the Lannisters, the remaining heir to Highgarden, Willas Tyrell, bargains a marriage alliance with the recently triumphant King of the North, to his youngest surviving sister. This may become a multi-chapter fic, depending in part on its reception.





	A Lily Among Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find this and a lot more at my tumblr, warmommy.tumblr.com!

Jon Snow walked slowly through the keep of Riverrun. He’d never been allowed to come here by Catelyn Stark when all the other children visited, and, even though it had spent years under enemy occupation, it held strong and true, and kept its regal qualities. In the dim light, he could see dancing trout carved into the masonry, and ran his fingers across them.

He had chosen to give control of the castle and the southern portion of the Riverlands to the Tyrell family. Their suffering and loses at the hands of the Lannisters–who had been their  _allies_ –was comparable to the Starks, and Willas was now sending as much grain and livestock North as his family had previously sent to King’s Landing. The only one complaining now was Tormund, who disagreed with the warm weather, but his people were being fed, and that was more than any of them could have hoped for not long ago.

They could starve the Lannisters out, at this point, but Sansa wanted blood. Fire and blood.

He missed Daenerys, sometimes. Wondered where she’d gone. The last time he’d seen her, she was on Drogon’s back, higher than the sun. That felt like years past, now.

He dismissed the guards at his door with a gentle thank you and walked in to the sound of liquid pouring into glass.

“Oh, take your hand off your pommel.” You smirked against your goblet and sipped the wine. “Won’t you sit with me, my dear future husband?”

“Lady Reagan?” Jon refrained from removing his cloak in light of your presence. “H-hello. I was not expecting–”

You laughed softly and gestured to the seat beside yours. “I’ll do this part for you. Yes, the hour is late. I know that I may not be  _entirely_  justified in calling on you before our wedding, but we shall just call it a Tyrell family tradition and keep it between ourselves, hm?  _Do_  take a seat, my darling, it’s golden wine from the Arbor.”

You stood and placed your hand on his shoulder. You smiled at his shyness and drew him toward the wine and cheese. “I want to know all about you, love. I’m dying to hear about your service in the Night’s Watch. That was  _so_  brave.”

“There isn’t much to tell.” Jon watched your hands as you poured more wine, his eyes flicking up only briefly at the plunging neckline of your silk brocade dress. “I left because they killed me and decided to take back my family’s home. After that…well, you know well.”

With a soft giggle, you leaned back in your seat, tilting your glass before raising it. “A toast to a long and happy marriage?”

“Why not?”

The wine had your heart thudding, and you could feel it in your neck. “You know, I don’t know if there’s been a Tyrell woman in recent times who did have a happy marriage. Mother found Father as dull as he was–he  _was_  dear to me–Margaery married three Baratheons in a row and still wound up imprisoned and murdered by the dowager, my grandmother was much more pleased with her lifestyle than Grandfather Luthor.”

“I will never mistreat you, my Lady,” Jon promised.

You smirked and gave a light cluck. “Oh, my dear, of course you will not. You may be King in the North, but I am the Queen of Thorns. You see, I take after my grandmother. Margaery was too sweet to prick the fingers of those who reached for her.”

“So I take it you’ll be the sort of wife who does not mince words?”

“My love, I am sweeter than the wine.” You feigned offence and touched his forearm. “And as full-bodied, but you did not hear that from me.”

Jon stood. “Reagan.” He walked around to your chair and placed his hands on your shoulders. Your dress was cut so that they were largely bare. “Whatever you’ve come here to do, it’s not necessary. You’ve no need to fear, no need to be anxious. I will try to make you happy. I’m no Baratheon. I think I’m not so boring. I won’t beat you. Willas was cautious. He wishes to ensure his baby sister has a good life, and I will give it to you. You should rest, my Lady. If you would like to speak, my time is yours tomorrow afternoon. We’ll row out on the river and I will tell you all the stories about Grenn and Pyp and Sam I can recall. And I’ll bring the wine.”

After a moment, you stood, blushing, and nodded to him. “That is most kind of you indeed. It will be my pleasure.”

He smiled, and it made your knees weak. “Allow me to escort you to your rooms.”

You held his arm, traced the dancing trout with your fingers as you passed them, and stole glances at Jon Snow as the two of you walked. Maybe you would be marrying for love, as well.


End file.
